


Mentorship

by whitesheets



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Drama, F/F, F/M, Female-Centric, Femslash, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 15:33:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3386975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitesheets/pseuds/whitesheets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy makes a mistake. Miranda makes a decision. </p><p>A prequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3204818">Risk</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I mentioned that I was thinking about doing a prequel for [Risk](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3204818) and I've finally managed to find time to write some of it down. Unbeta-ed so there may be some bumps on the ride, but I sincerely hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Twenty-five seconds was the amount of time it took for Andy Sachs to get out of the town-car and let herself into the townhouse, as she juggled dry-cleaning, The Book and putting the key into the lock.

On a good day, twenty-seconds.

On a bad day, twenty-five seconds in an editorial meeting was all it took for Miranda's mood to plunge into subzero temperatures and proceed to stay there. At least until the entire team was ready to throw themselves through Elias-Clarke's polished windows onto the busy New York streets below.

Today was a bad day, and Andy's nerves were so frazzled, the split ends in her hair on the first day she joined _Runway_ couldn't even come close.

So when she received an internal memo in her inbox from HR on some stupid mentorship programme they were implementing for "talent development", Andy totally ignored it. It meant that her mentor would be randomly assigned, since she didn't choose from the list contained within the Excel sheet attached but Andy couldn’t bring herself to care. There was no way in hell Miranda Priestly's assistants had time for things like "personal development" and "career growth" anyway. In between trying to confirm Liebowitz and Miranda's lunch appointment with Irv (Miranda had cancelled the last three appointments at the very last minute so dealing with Irv’s assistant was no small feat either), Andy had to squeeze in a hunting session for several missing samples from Michael Kors as well. So yes, the damn mentorship programme could very well proceed without her.

She had completely forgotten about it until the very next day, when HR emailed again - this time personalised - assigning Andy her designated mentor: Cathryn (affectionately known as Cat to everyone in the world except Miranda), a senior graphics and layout editor from the team, well-versed with the publishing industry and her editor-in-chief's verbal take-downs. Not bad. Andy actually liked Cat, and felt that she was one of the few people on Miranda's payroll who knew what she was doing. She might learn something new from this and Andy knew to take her opportunities when they came. Well, if Cat even had the time to do any mentoring.

Feeling oddly buoyant about the whole thing, Andy opened her mouth to ask Emily who she got as a mentor and instantly regretted it when the redhead narrowed her eyes at Andy.

"Miranda, of course." Emily actually looked offended that Andy thought it could be any other person.

"What? They assigned Miranda to you?" Andy couldn't hide her surprise and the significant envy in her voice. Wouldn't HR assign someone more senior as Miranda's mentee? Wasn't that how things worked in programmes like these?

"You _are_ aware that you are allowed to request, right?" Emily looked at Andy with something that said: _Are you an idiot?_

"Um, yeah. But I didn't really have time to do it yesterday. I mean, when did _you_ find the time?! You were barely at your desk!" Totally true. If Andy had been frazzled yesterday, Emily had been on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Emily sniffed. "You make time."

"Right," Andy said, trying hard not to let the disappointment show. She had missed out on a bigger opportunity in the long run simply because she had been too focused on her task at hand - the short term goals. Damn it. It wasn't like her to let something like this slip past. Cat was great, but to be mentored by Miranda herself was a whole different ballgame, Andy was willing to bet. But there was nothing she could do now, not after HR had sent out those emails. They were inflexible like that. "I doubt HR would have assigned Miranda to be _anybody's_ mentor anyway, not if they want to improve retention rates," Andy snorted, turning back to the blue glare of her computer screen.

"Don't piss on my parade because you're regretting your life choices," Emily said, just as Miranda's soft voice carried from her office.

"Andrea."

“I’m not,” Andy lied, and made her way to Miranda’s office, notepad in hand. She should have spent five minutes replying to HR yesterday. A ball of regret was starting to form in her chest. She had fucked up her one chance at gaining more insight and useful experience at her current job, things which would count and matter on her CV later on. Emily would now have extra time with Miranda and Andy really didn’t want to ponder on the reasons why that morsel of information was driving her nuts.

But with the rate Miranda was going, Andy doubted she would actually be much of a mentor to Emily, especially since the only sort of feedback their boss ever deigned to provide were never very encouraging or even remotely constructive to begin with. Good, Andy thought, spitefully.

“Yes, Miranda?” Andy tried not to stare blatantly at the blouse left unbuttoned because a lacy navy trimming was making itself known that it was there. Not that Miranda had even looked up at her second-assistant – but Andy could never be sure as to what Miranda saw even without looking.

“I trust that you have read HR’s email today?” Miranda said, softly clacking on her keyboard.

Immediately, Andy’s brain went into overdrive. _Which_ HR email? They received HR emails all the damn time, and _everyone_ ignored them. Was Miranda talking about the mentorship programme? Oh, Jesus Christ. Was she fired? She tried not to sweat in her (or rather, The Closet's) Chanel.

“Yes,” Andy said, because there was no way she could ask for clarification and she didn’t want to give Miranda the upper hand, not if she was getting fired.

“Do you have some interest in graphic design and layouts which you would rather pursue?”

“Huh?” came out of Andy’s mouth, and she cringed inside. The no-question rule applied to single-syllable expressions of confusion as well.

The clacking had stopped, and she guessed that Miranda had sent the email she was no doubt writing when Andy entered. Finally, blue eyes looked up to observe her with the customary once-over and then settled on Andy’s face.

“I was under the impression that you wanted to be a writer,” Miranda said, neutrally.

“I do.”

“Your mentor is Cathryn,” the editor intoned, and Andy almost fell on her ass knowing that Miranda had willingly clarified something with her.

Andy pressed her lips together to prevent a whoosh of relief from escaping. The damn mentorship programme. Andy fought hard not to squirm underneath Miranda’s pointed gaze.

“Um, yeah,” Andy said. “I mean, I do want to become a writer. But I’m sure I could learn a lot from Cat – Cathryn too.”

Miranda wrinkled her nose. At Andy’s slip with the nickname, or something else entirely, Andy couldn’t tell. It wasn’t as if Andy had _chosen_ Cat as her mentor. HR had randomly assigned her one – wait, did Miranda think Andy had made that decision? Did Miranda want –

“Send Emily in,” Miranda said, interrupting Andy’s internal debate on whether she should correct Miranda’s assumption or not.

“Miranda –”

For some unknown reason, Andy felt it was important for Miranda to know that but the damn woman obviously wasn’t going to give Andy a chance to explain (did she even owe Miranda an explanation for that matter?), was she?

“That’s all.”

No, she definitely wasn’t.

“Yes, Miranda,” Andy automatically said, feeling strangely bereft at her dismissal.

“You’re up,” Andy said as she passed by Emily’s desk, dropping into her seat with little grace. She woke her computer from the sleep mode it had settled into, and started going through her emails. Seeing HR’s email again made something twist in her stomach unpleasantly, and she dragged it into the _MISC_ folder just so she didn’t need to see it in the main inbox folder.

When 3PM rolled around, Andy had almost forgotten about Miranda, until the sharp staccato of heels alerted her that the devil herself was leaving her lair and made Andy all frustrated again.

“Coat. Bag,” Miranda ordered, but Andy was already standing by, holding Miranda’s coat up. It had taken a while, but Andy had the process down like a well-oiled machine. Miranda slipped into the vintage Dior smoothly – only the fashion maven herself would match the colour of her outerwear to her lingerie – and took the bag Andy offered briskly.

“Have a good day, Miranda,” Andy said, like she always did.

Miranda pursed her lips. “You are coming,” she said, in a way that made it seem like Andy’s accompaniment this afternoon had been in the works for weeks.

“Of course,” Andy said, immediately shoving her notepad into her tote. From across the room, Emily shrugged apologetically, and Andy sighed. Once Miranda made a decision, there was no questioning it or changing her mind. Nevermind the domino effect it had on the rest of the prepared schedules and the backlogging of tasks – those things were for people like Andy and Emily to figure out.

Miranda had already started walking to the elevator, and Andy took the opportunity to put on her own coat and smoothen out her bangs.

“Could you –” Andy began but Emily was already waving a hand to shoo her away. “Thanks, Em!” Andy said, and felt the irrational envy against the British woman melt a little. It was stupid to hold her own slip-up against Emily, she knew.

Andy reached the elevators, just as Miranda stepped into one, and waited for the next while firing off a text to Roy. By the time she made it down to the lobby, she could see a silver-bob parting the human sea and Andy struggled to keep up. She wouldn’t be surprised, if it turned out Miranda could run marathons in stilettos.

She made it to Miranda’s side the exact moment the silver-haired woman turned to say something, and Andy mentally patted herself on the back. It was all about timing. She knew Miranda’s tendency to spew a last minute command just before entering the car, and just before exiting it. She knew that if she hit the elevator button three seconds after Miranda got into one, another would come just in time for her to reach the lobby and catch up with Miranda at the car before she got in.

“Tell Nigel I will not return to the office today, and to chair the four-thirty meeting,” Andy heard, as Miranda slipped into the town-car. Okay. Not returning to office, Nigel chair meeting, she mentally recounted, sprinting to the other side of the car – Miranda Priestly never slid across seats.

“Yes, Miranda,” Andy said, as Roy started driving.

She knew her boss had an appointment at 3:30PM, but it had been vague on the calendar and Andy had presumed it was personal. On hindsight, she should have known it unlikely, since Miranda rarely used official working hours for personal matters. She messaged Nigel and then forwarded a few emails she couldn’t personally deal with, being out of office, to Emily.

“We will be meeting a new designer today,” Miranda announced after a few brief moments of silence, to Andy and the back of Roy’s head.

“Okay,” Andy said, frowning slightly. Normally, Miranda liked to have Nigel around when she explored the freshest talent on the market, along with several different editors on the team. And there would normally be someone around to take pictures too. But Andy was pretty resourceful, and carried around a little compact camera in her bag (it had become a habit to discreetly snap pictures of things Miranda seemed to _not_ dislike just for future reference when it would inadvertently be requested for later on) so she may actually survive this afternoon unscathed.

“I haven’t decided if I like the work, but we will see.”

Andy tried not to gape. Was Miranda actually making conversation with her? Was she expected to contribute to it?

“Yes, Andrea. You may ask a question,” Miranda said, sounding annoyed but if Andy was to be honest, she could have sworn that there was amusement mixed in there, somehow.

“Um.”

“I’m not sure if writing is a good career path for you, Andrea.” Miranda raised a condescending eyebrow, and it took five whole seconds for Andy to realise that the older woman was not entirely serious. Unchartered waters, Sachs, Andy mentally briefed herself. She had no idea how to navigate this and Miranda seemed to realise the effect she was having on her second assistant. Maybe this was a test. It had to be, because Miranda enjoyed putting people through hell for the fun of it. Andy was sure.

“Sorry,” Andy mumbled. Then taking up Miranda’s offer, because it will probably never come again within the next million years, she asked: “Why isn’t the team going too?”

“At times, I like to visit them myself. Before I am sure.”

“Sure?”

“Gut-feeling, if you will, tells me there is potential. But I have yet to make up my mind as to whether the potential is worthy of _Runway_ ’s time. A preliminary survey is necessary. And I find, that without the entire team, they are less afraid,” Miranda said, explaining her actions in such uncharacteristic detail that Andy was floored. Nothing made sense. Miranda talking to her didn’t make sense. Miranda explaining herself didn’t make sense. The explanation _itself_ didn’t make sense. Less afraid? What the hell? Was Miranda even aware of the petrifying fear she invoked in mere mortals? How could someone be less afraid when trapped in a room with _only_ Miranda Priestly? More importantly, Andy’s beating heart at Miranda’s full attention didn’t make any fucking sense either.

But Andy schooled her features, and said: “Okay. That makes sense.”

“I certainly hope so,” Miranda said, still watching Andy.

Unwilling to betray her nervousness, Andy settled for what she knew. “Yes, Miranda.”

Miranda’s gaze grew more intense, like Andy had said something she shouldn’t have, or didn’t say something she should have. Shit. But there was no way she could go back and edit her response… and to babble on now indecisively would annoy Miranda further. Shit.

“Perhaps your decision to go with layouts is the right choice then,” Miranda finally said, seemingly having lost interest in Andy and going back to her phone.

Which completely irritated Andy because for one, writing was _the_ career path for her, and two, Andy didn’t even choose Cat as her mentor. And why was Miranda so intent on bringing it up every damn time she saw Andy anyway? Did it bother her ego that, unlike Emily, Andy hadn’t fallen all over herself to be mentored by Miranda?

“Yeah, I’d like to think so,” Andy said, feigning indifference. And to think it had been so important that Miranda knew Cat hadn’t been Andy’s choice – well, Andy wasn’t going to give Miranda the satisfaction of knowing that yes, Andy would have fallen all over herself to get herself Miranda’s mentorship. She sure as hell wasn’t going to let Miranda know that she was indeed beating herself up having lost that chance.

“I’m sure HR would be happy to hear that,” Miranda said, without missing a beat or looking up from her phone.

Andy sighed internally. Of course, Miranda couldn’t care less. Why would it bother Miranda who her unimportant second assistant chose as a mentor? Why did she even think that Miranda would be interested in any explanation Andy had to give? She was probably just enjoying the power trips induced by making Andy quake in her Manolo Blahniks.

As it turned out, whatever doubts Miranda had carried about the new designer’s work was confirmed at the meeting and it only lasted a grand fifteen minutes. Andy didn’t even have the opportunity to learn the designer’s name and didn’t have the guts to ask Miranda. Still, she took a lot of pictures with her crappy compact camera, just in case.

The trip back to the office – the editor had decided that _yes_ , she would be returning to the office – was a bit less eventful. Whatever it was that had prompted Miranda to start speaking to Andy earlier had disappeared and she actually felt disappointed that Miranda was mostly leaving her to her own devices. Andy wondered if Nigel and the rest were even aware about Miranda’s little field trip. Likely not, Andy realised. And Miranda had taken Andy along. Did she make it a habit to bring her assistants with her whenever she felt inclined to visit a designer alone? Emily had never mentioned anything like this before. Suddenly, it was really important that Andy spoke to Emily.

They arrived back at the Elias-Clarke building at 4:17PM sharp, and Andy sent a text to Nigel and Emily to alert them that Miranda was on the way up. Preparing for a meeting with Nigel and then having to face Miranda instead was something Andy would never wish on anybody in the team. At least Miranda wasn’t in any discernible mood – neutral to mild annoyance on the Miranda-scale was a very good day for most employees of _Runway_. It was odd that the meeting earlier had not dented Miranda’s mood more, but Andy shrugged it off. The older woman was nothing if not unpredictable.

“Hey Em,” Andy said, the moment she laid eyes on blazing red hair.

“What?” the redhead snapped, by way of greeting.

“Did Miranda ever make you attend meetings with new designers before?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “She brings an entourage to those things. You _have_ been to a few,” she said, pointedly.

“Yeah, yeah I guess,” Andy said, and pretended to laugh at her absent-mindedness.

Shit.

Evidently, Miranda had never taken Emily with her to private meetings.

And of course, Andy had to fuck it up because she couldn’t shut her mouth – though nothing had been said or implied, Andy knew that today would be the first and last time Miranda would have Andy accompany her on something like this. From the easy (on Miranda’s part) banter they had started out with, to the disappointing silence following the very brief meeting, Andy was sure she had ruined any chance of the former ever happening again within her lifetime. The worst thing was, she didn’t even know what she had done –

No, that wasn’t entirely true.

Deep down, Andy knew _what_.

It was the _how_ and _why_ which didn’t make any sense at all.

But Miranda wasn’t someone who inspired sense-making. She demanded the outrageous and performed miracles nobody else could even dream to pull off.

Ignoring the constant dull thrum of regret and disappointment in her chest, something which had been lodged there since they left the unnamed designer’s studio, Andy threw her attention to work, and making the most out of her current situation. There was no point now, was there? She was only going to drive herself insane if she continued on, the rational part of her mind thought.

So she emailed Cat, ticked off ten items on her to-do list, and even managed to pop into the pantry for a quick coffee break while Emily was out running some errands she hadn’t been able to do earlier covering for Andy’s absence.

When Miranda reappeared after the meeting, Andy had managed to convince herself that everything would be okay. Even if Emily got to spend more time with Miranda than Andy did. Even if Cat wasn’t Miranda, which could be an advantageous point all things considered. Nothing had actually changed, Andy reasoned. Miranda being vague and quiet was classic, and it wasn’t as if they had started out as best buddies and then ended up with this gaping distance between them. No, the distance had always been there.

Her phone pinged with a new message, just as Miranda strode past her desk, and Andy couldn’t help but smile when she read it.

_“Hey Andy, don’t email me, or I’ll think of you as work. Let’s have coffee tomorrow to talk about your growth plan. Believe it or not, I actually have a form to fill out on you.”_

“Do I pay you to smile mindlessly at your phone?”

Andy’s back straightened at once.

“Sorry, Miranda,” she said, in reflex. Not that Andy had done anything wrong at all. The mentorship programme was management mandated, so Andy hadn’t been doing something personal. “It was Cathryn,” Andy explained, the same time her brain screeched at her to shut up. “We’re going to meet for my growth plan,” she continued, volunteering more information than what Miranda probably wanted to hear, because her mouth had a mind of its own.

Miranda looked like a giant, towering over Andy’s seated form in her heels, and she looked obviously displeased.

“Feel free to do as much growing as you’d like when you have nothing else to do, but it would do you well to remember your priorities, Andrea.  I happen to know just how much you have to do right this instant.” Andy caught an imperceptible shadow cross Miranda’s regal features but it was gone before she had time to process and read what it meant.

Andy swallowed. “Of course, Miranda. It won’t happen again.”

Without the Dior coat, Andy also found that she could see teasing glimpses of the navy lace she had forgotten over the course of this afternoon. Aware that her face was heating up, Andy averted her gaze, only to find Miranda staring back at her.

Andy’s heart started pounding. She had been wrong. _Something_ had definitely changed. The ground had shifted somewhere, sometime today and Andy Sachs was in trouble.

But without a single word, Miranda turned and stalked into her office, leaving Andy staring after her like an idiot.

Shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking this long to update! Work hours have been insane and I had some trouble finding time to write this at all. Naturally, our two favourite ladies wouldn't leave me be until I did, so here is the second part. It is a significantly longer part, which I hope will make up for my tardiness.
> 
> Unbeta-ed, so please excuse whatever mistakes you may find. I hope you will still enjoy!

Two weeks after Andy’s meeting with Cat, whereby they had outlined several goals for her growth, she came to a startling realization, over a bowl of chicken salad, that Miranda was ignoring her.

A few months ago, Andy would have whooped with joy knowing that Emily was the one being kept in Miranda’s back pocket, but now – _now_ , she could only identify disappointment and regret in the confusion of her emotions. Emily was now back to doing things Andy had only recently earned the right to do, such as make more personal appointments for Miranda. She had been ecstatic when Miranda had told her to arrange a doctor’s appointment for one weekend some time ago, and now, it seemed that she was being relegated back to “untrustworthy-second-assistant” status which sucked a whole damn lot.

She bet Emily wouldn’t even know about the food supplements Miranda was supposed to take after lunch everyday (Andy also wasn’t sure if it was information she was cleared to share with Emily since Miranda had requested that Andy pick up the prescription a few weeks ago) so the only thing she could do was to leave them on a corner of Miranda’s desk beside a picture of Caroline and Cassidy, and hoped that the editor would notice.

Untrustworthy second assistants didn’t do things like remind Miranda to take her goddamn vitamins.

At least Andy was still allowed to deliver The Book every night while Miranda carried out her version of mentorship on Emily.

Of course, this meant that she had a bit less resting on her shoulders. On a normal day, she didn’t really have other responsibilities besides fulfilling Miranda’s every whim and fancy and if Miranda wasn’t addressing any of those whims or fancies to Andy… well, she could only sit and wait for Emily to delegate tasks to her.

This also meant that Andy’s 15-minute lunch breaks were now 25 minutes long (in Andy’s head, this was a noted moment in the History of Miranda Priestly’s _Runway_ Assistants 1995-2007 Edition) and she had started taking them with a few people in the editorial team who made better company than her computer did. Andy really liked Cat – she liked the way the older woman carried herself, self-assured with a wicked sense of humour, not at all caustic and wasn’t intent on making Andy die of a blood clot induced by high blood pressure.

More importantly, Andy didn’t have to watch her back with Cat and knew that the older woman wasn’t being friendly to Andy for the sake of gaining favours. Miranda never granted such favours to anybody who didn’t deserve it through hard work, as far as she knew. But it never stopped anyone from trying to kiss her assistants’ asses in hopes that the unicorn farts would travel far enough into Miranda’s office.

“Are you sure you won’t get into trouble?”

“Nope,” Andy said, and shoveled a forkful of lettuce and chicken slice into her mouth.

“I am amazed. I’ve been here for five years, and I have never seen any of Miranda’s assistants eating. And here you are.”

“Here I am,” Andy repeated, amused that Cat was still not over the fact that Andy ate real food after two weeks. “It’s not like we don’t eat. Even Emily eats.”

Cat snorted inelegantly, running her fingers through dark, cropped hair and looked at Andy over her thick-rimmed glasses. The older woman rather reminded her of a pixie – petite, with a hairstyle to match. She was reviewing a few early layout drafts for a spread on her laptop, and Andy could see the dissatisfaction in her screwed up expression. Unlike Miranda though, she never verbalized any displeasure of her subordinates’ work to Andy.

“Emily is insane,” Cat said.

“Aww, she grows on you. An acquired taste,” Andy said, despite her serious grievances against how the redhead had Miranda’s undivided attention now. Dammit. She needed to pull her shit together and stop feeling like a stupid, slighted lover because she definitely wasn’t one.

“Heh. I guess that’s what everyone likes about you. Nothing bad to say about anyone,” Cat said, turning back to the layouts she was scrutinizing.

“Oh, don’t be fooled. There _are_ people I wish I could strangle, but eh,” Andy said, shrugging. They included Miranda’s asshole husband who had called the office line this morning when Miranda was out and demanded (demanded!) that Miranda picked up her cellphone.

Andy would always make sure that she lowered her voice when she had to update Miranda about anything Stephen-related – she didn’t know why, but it was a habit she had slipped into since the whole “Mr. Priestly” debacle at the benefit. It was almost as if she was trying to be discreet for Miranda’s sake, to spare her the indignity of having the rest of her employees know that her pathetic husband had a habit of calling at work or making outrageous demands for Miranda to cancel prior engagements for him. While Andy didn’t gossip about Miranda, she knew Emily confided in Serena so she just had to try her best to keep most of it from being overheard.

Then again, the mega-assholery of Stephen’s phone call this morning was not something Andy would tell Miranda. It wouldn’t do to let Miranda know that her husband had given her a preview to another marital discord that was ongoing, knowing how risky her current position was since her fall from favour. Andy would be fired on the spot. If not, she would be sent on a wild goose chase just so Miranda could fire her for not performing.

Like that time she had stumbled on Miranda and Stephen arguing at the townhouse.

God.

Deciding to change the topic to something that didn’t send her mind in Miranda’s direction or to thoughts of potential unemployment, Andy said: “So how did you last five years here?” _And still be so confident of your work?_

The other woman shrugged. “I’m not sure, to be honest. If Miranda hasn’t kicked me to the curb yet, I must be good at something.”

Again, that black-hole of regret threatened to suck in all of Andy’s happiness for the day.

“Yeah, that’s true,” she said, and thought about how Miranda had, in a manner of speaking, kicked Andy’s ass to the curb in favour of Emily even if she knew a lot of things about making Miranda’s day smoother in a way that Emily didn’t. The black hole grew stronger. It was fucking unfair.

“Did you work this week’s stuff we outlined for you?” Cat said, and Andy shivered when she remembered Miranda’s reaction when she had last used the word “stuff”.

“Actually, I did. I tried writing every night, after work, to take my mind _off_ work but you know, my brain keeps going back to it. Then I end up writing to-do lists for the next day,” Andy said, cringing at how much of a workaholic she sounded like.

“That’s not actual writing, Andy Sachs.”

“I know! God, I know. It’s just really hard to let go of _Runway_.” Of Miranda, more accurately, because Andy’s brain was programmed to always be on alert to a potential phone call or text message from the woman, whenever, wherever. Often, her last thoughts before falling asleep at night would be about work/Miranda. Workaholic. Maybe, Miranda-holic. Andy swallowed a sob of despair at her life.

“Get Nate to help,” Cat suggested, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Andy laughed and took a final bite of her salad. “Oh, believe me, he’s tried.”

“Oh Jesus, you’re not supposed to think about _Runway_ during sex. Nothing kills the mood more effectively than thinking of potential death by laser glares.”

But Andy had never thought about death glares whenever she thought about Miranda. No, when Andy thought about Miranda, she thought about soft whispers and soft white hair. Sometimes, she let herself wonder if Miranda was resting well at home (likely not), or if Stephen was difficult that night. Recently, her brain had starting adding images of navy lace into the mix as well which was batshit crazy because Andy didn’t even think of Miranda that way at all.

“Unless…” Cat started, looking equal parts confused and mortified.

“No! God, no. I don’t think of Miranda during sex. That’s just wrong. Just no.” Andy was vehement, praying hard that her face wasn’t as red as it felt.

Cat laughed, but she sounded a bit too relieved for Andy’s liking. That would mean she _was_ thinking of exactly what Andy was trying so hard not to think about.

“It has nothing to do with Nate, or Miranda or whatever else,” Andy hedged. Wrapping the empty container of her salad up in the paper bag it came with, she tossed it into the wastepaper basket at the corner of the room and stood up. “I just need to work on my tunnel vision thing we talked about. Letting go of work when I need my focus on something else.” _I’m suffering from tunnel vision that had an insufferable fashionista standing at the end of said tunnel._

“You do that. And you can always talk to me, you know it.” The brunette walked over and gave Andy’s shoulder a small squeeze.

“Thanks for everything,” Andy said, gratefully and leaned in for a quick hug. “Ten minutes left. I need to return to my battle station.”

“No worries. I’ll see you soon!”

“Yup, text me!” Andy called over her shoulder as she left the glass confines of the layout editor’s working space.

She took three minutes for a bathroom break, and she made it back to her desk just in time to hear the scurry of employees, signaling Miranda’s close vicinity. Brushing out her bangs, Andy pulled up the email client on her computer and began flagging the items which needed urgent attention until she could actually hear the familiar, purposeful stride click down the hallway. Hearing it, she put on her best “Yes, Miranda” face in preparation.

Until Miranda deposited her coat and bag on Andy’s desk without a word, and disappeared into her office.

Right. Because Andy was apparently transparent and had been in such a state for the past two weeks.

Emily rushed in a few moments later, carrying what must have been a total of ten bags, and balancing several spring binders in the crook of one arm.

“Here, let me,” Andy said, grabbing the bags from Emily and catching a binder before it hit the floor.

“God, what a bloody nightmare,” Emily hissed, dumping the rest of the binders on her desk and snatched the one Andy was holding with barely repressed rage, throwing it onto the pile.

“What happened?” Andy mouthed, unwilling to risk Miranda hearing their conversation. There was a reason why Miranda always left her office door open, Andy figured, and it wasn’t for the view.

Emily rolled her eyes and pointed at her cellphone.

Andy got the hint, going back to her own seat, and waited for her phone to ping. It didn’t take long.

_“Stephen called me in the middle of the preview!”_

That explained things. Andy couldn’t fathom why somebody with Miranda Priestly’s level of intelligence would ever be willingly bound by contract to someone like her current husband.

“ _You mean your phone?”_ She looked up across the room to Emily who nodded. He must have called Emily after trying the office line, getting Andy and realizing that Miranda was out of the office.

Without waiting for Emily’s text response, Andy typed up another one and hit ‘Send’.

_“You pick up?”_

_“She told me to tell him that she was in a meeting and would call back. Bastard told me to tell her not to bother with dinner tonight.”_

Andy suppressed a growl. She had almost killed herself, booking a table at “that place where the fish isn’t too bad” which turned out to be a place where one needed to make a reservation at least three months before, not the three weeks Andy had been given.

Although, to have made dinner plans three weeks before, an exceptional amount of buffer time for Miranda (it warranted another entry into the History of Miranda Priestly’s _Runway_ Assistants 1995-2007 Edition), she must have been trying extremely hard to make time for her husband. Andy wanted nothing more than to stab her heel into his eyeball.

_“Shit. The preview?”_

Emily shouldn’t have even told Miranda her husband was calling and intentionally missed the call, like what Andy always did. At least it would have spared Miranda the embarrassment from knowing that her assistants were privy to her failing marriage – Andy did not relish the idea of Miranda hurt in any way, but she would have to be wearing blinders the size of Manhattan to _not_ see it coming.

 _“Nothing. Nobody knows if she likes it or not. Nigel doesn’t even know if we’re still featuring the collection.”_ Emily threw Andy a desperate look, eyes wild. Andy didn’t really want to know what the redhead had to endure on the ride back to the office.

If Miranda had received news that Stephen was cancelling on her out of spite in the middle of a preview, in the midst of her editorial team, with the knowledge that her assistant knew… she would have been humiliated. Very angry. Maybe even hurt, if Stephen wielded that kind of power.

See? This was why Miranda was making a huge mistake at throwing Andy aside.

She could have prevented this. Andy was good at taking care of things subtly without the editor realizing anything amiss. Why had Miranda suddenly iced her out so thoroughly? If Andy had done something so wrong to warrant this punishment, shouldn’t she have been verbally flagellated or fired instead?

Couldn’t she just have let Andy do what she was good at, and spare herself the heartache? Damn woman was the most frustrating human being Andy had ever had the misfortune to meet.

 _“But she will eventually insult something, and we’ll know what she thinks, right?_ ” Andy tried.

After a moment, her phone pinged, and she read the message: _“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Miranda insults everything and we never know what she really thinks.”_

Andy gave Emily a mighty scowl, but the redhead was already on her feet, seemingly having heard a whispered summon she had somehow missed.

So that was that.

That night, Andy arrived that the townhouse with The Book with trepidation, head swimming with thoughts about Miranda, Miranda’s husband, Miranda ignoring her, Miranda potentially being sad and lonely tonight, even though there was not a damn thing she could do about it nor was it her place.

Balancing the dry cleaning with practiced ease, she slipped out of her shoes and left them near the door. Clothes hung up in the closet, Andy made to place The Book on the table, only to almost go into cardiac arrest when someone cleared their throat right behind her. She spun around so quickly the room actually tilted a bit.

“Miranda!”

“Really, Andrea. No need to state the obvious,” the editor said, drily.

“Uh,” Andy said, trying not to quiver under Miranda’s once (or twice) over. She had barely spoken to Miranda since she returned from the preview and Andy couldn’t tell which mood the editor was in tonight. It couldn’t be a good one, at any rate, since Stephen pulled that shit this morning.

Regardless of mood, Miranda still looked fantastic. She wasn’t wearing any lipstick but her lips were pink, like a coral blush. They also looked very soft.

“Sorry, Miranda,” Andy said, suddenly aware that she had been staring, and prayed for a quick dismissal so she could tuck tail and run.

But Miranda wasn’t giving her the dismissal she wanted, instead, content to watch Andy squirming in her presence.

“Did you need something, Miranda?” she asked, belatedly realizing that she had _asked_ a question without permission. But it was late and Andy just wanted to go home. The woman _must_ need something, if she had felt the need to acknowledge Andy’s presence tonight, not to mention, scare her half to death in the process.

“How are you finding the design and layouts department?” Miranda asked.

Andy stared.

Oh God, was she actually starting a conversation? Now?

“Have you gone mute?” Miranda frowned, growing impatient at Andy’s lack of coherence.

“It’s very interesting,” Andy blurted, trying to sound as sincere as possible. While Cat may be a great person to talk to, she had found that absolutely zero interest in layouts _or_ design and had made it clear to in the beginning that she wasn’t really seeking to learn skills in those areas. Even so, she didn’t think Miranda would actually be interested in hearing Andy talk about how she was actively trying to let go of work at home – and probably wouldn’t even understand the need to do such a thing anyway.

“Interesting? Is that the only thing you can say, as someone who professes love for words?”

Christ. Miranda was never going to stop this, was she? Insults and barbs from the older woman had stopped bothering Andy a long time ago, but those jabs about Andy’s writing abilities was really doing a number on her self-confidence and general pleasant outlook on life on the whole. For the first time in a very long time, Andy actually felt a twinge of anger towards her boss.

“It’s great, really. We worked out a growth plan, and I’m doing some – ah – activities to help me achieve some weekly goals,” Andy said, forcing a bright smile just for show.

“I’m sure,” Miranda said, with pure disinterest in her voice but she continued: “And your … mentor?”

“Cathryn has been really helpful,” Andy replied, not wanting to say too much out of self-preservation. If Miranda knew what they had spoken about this afternoon – Nate, and sex, and thinking about Miranda during sex.

Fuck.

“She must be, since you seem to be spending an extraordinary amount of your time purveying – layouts,” Miranda said, waving a limp hand.

Andy couldn’t even find it in herself to be surprised that Miranda knew where she spent her lunch time. Eyes at the back of her head and in the _Runway_ walls.

“I – um.” Andy’s first reaction was to apologise, but she couldn’t think of a single reason to do so now. “There is a lot to learn,” she said, lamely.

“There better be,” Miranda said, pursing her bare, pink lips. “I would hate to think that all that time had gone _wasted_.”

That would be the overstatement of the year, Andy thought. It was an extra ten minutes a day and her fifteen minute lunch breaks weren’t exactly something to shout about either. In fact, Andy had all that damn time because somebody had forgotten that she had a second assistant around. And if Miranda knew Andy had time, why didn’t she see fit to give her more work instead of talking about wasted time and making Andy’s brain hurt?

Everyone knew how well Miranda tolerated idleness and time spent _not_ working and… wow, she didn’t look upset at all about Andy’s extra time.

Which would _could_ mean she had been deliberately allowing Andy to take that time. Holy _shit_.

“It hasn’t!” Andy vowed, allowing herself to hope that she was right. That Miranda had willingly let Andy have an extra ten minutes a day – just because she could, and not because Andy had was underperforming. Not because Miranda favoured Emily over her.

“Good,” Miranda sniffed, and looked a little pleased with herself - which completely blew Andy's mind.

Her belly did a somersault and before Andy could come up with an adequate multi-syllable response, Miranda reached out to take The Book from her and started up the stairs. Fighting the absurd urge to run and grab the thick mock-up to wipe off any potential smudges from her clammy fingers, Andy stood frozen on her spot.

_Miranda insults everything and we never know what she really thinks._

Clammy fingers aside, Miranda had done something for Andy and the whole thing was actually quite sweet – if her brain could ever reconcile “sweet” with “Miranda Priestly” at all. Andy couldn’t stop grinning, glowing and feeling a million pounds lighter from the unpredictably kind gesture from a woman _not_ known for any sort of kind gestures at all.

Then, from the landing of the stairs, Miranda turned and looked right down at Andy.

“Andrea.”

Andy’s heart jolted. It seemed she could forget about home for now. She didn’t care, not if this meant that she finally existed again – had _always_ existed – in Miranda’s world. Anticipation ran through her body with a delicious thrill. After two damn weeks of feeling like she had been punished, tonight had been a revelation.

“Yes, Miranda.”

Almost stumbling over her own feet, she slipped into the previously discarded shoes and climbed the stairs only to realize when she reached the top that she had no idea where Miranda had disappeared to. Her last venture up this particular flight of stairs could possibly rank as one of the worst moments of Andy’s career so she could be forgiven for hesitating.

“In here,” Miranda’s voice floated from one of the rooms, and Andy tried not to jog. Andy Sachs had her dignity, and she refused to fall all over herself just to be in Miranda’s presence again. She wasn’t Emily, who probably saw Miranda as only deity worth worshipping in her mortal existence.

If Andy had expected her boss’ home office to look anything like the one at _Runway_ , she was sorely mistaken. The wooden panels, endless bookcases and personal photographs, complete with Miranda curled up in a corner sofa, was too much. Cognitive dissonance, or something. She had read it somewhere. Like “sweet”, Andy now had to reconcile “cozy” and “safe” with Miranda Priestly as well. She wasn’t sure if her brain had enough processing power to achieve such a feat.

“Sit down, Andrea,” Miranda commanded, looking over her glasses, and Andy sat on an adjacent sofa (either that, or her knees gave way). Before she could pull out her pen and notebook, Miranda began to rattle off a long list of instructions and Andy scrambled to catch up, writing becoming more illegible with each task she noted down.

Demanding as ever, “sweet” began to fade from the list of adjectives Andy could use to describe the older woman, especially not when she viciously tore into a spread Andy knew Cat was involved in.

“This is a replica of what we did in the Summer Issue for 2000. Did they think I wouldn’t notice just because the font was changed?” Miranda muttered, making Andy wince on behalf of the design team.

She wanted to say that maybe, nobody had noticed the similarities because 2000 was six years ago and _nobody_ in the current design team had been around then. Survival dictated that Andy kept her mouth shut, however.

Ah, well. The sweet, fuzzy Miranda in Andy’s head was nice while it lasted.

Twenty minutes later and a cramping right hand, all the crazy anticipation had disappeared, and Andy was left wishing that Miranda would just utter those precious, precious words of dismissal.

But Miranda didn’t, content to let Andy sit there like an idiot while she made revisions and wrote on Post-Its she stuck on every damn page of The Book. Somewhere along the way, she heard someone come in the front door, come up the stairs and ascended another flight of stairs to the second floor. From the way the editor subtly straightened her back a bit more, as if squaring her shoulders for something unpleasant, Andy guessed that Stephen had just come home.

At least he didn’t drop by the study. Andy didn’t want to bear witness to another chink in Miranda’s personal happiness and honestly, she didn’t want Miranda to be unhappy at all. Period.

“Don’t bother coming into the office tomorrow.”

It took several seconds for Andy to gather that Miranda had spoken, and when she did – just wait a minute. What the hell?

“Roy will pick you up from that hole you live in,” Miranda continued, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “You may stop looking like I shot a puppy.”

“Okay. Sorry.” Andy supposed that eliminated any potential after office gatherings at her place then.

“There is a new designer I would like to visit.”

This time, Andy couldn’t hide her smile. “That’s great!”

Miranda shrugged, the slope of the sweater’s neckline slipping a tiny bit lower to expose an inch more of glorious skin. “We will see. And I will decide on what is great and what is not,” she said, but there was none of the usual bite in her voice.

“Of course, Miranda.”

“And you will do to stop leaving those hideous pillboxes on my desk every morning,” Miranda said.

“Oh.” Andy bit her lip, caught between dejection at Miranda’s callous words and frustration that she wouldn’t let Andy take care of her. “Um, but Emily doesn’t know –”

“Silly girl. Did I tell Emily to bring them? You may bring them to me when you bring the morning coffee.”

Bring the morning coffee. Andy usually left the morning Starbucks order on Miranda’s desk before the woman arrived, ensuring that Miranda was properly caffeinated before any attempt at human contact was made. But apparently, bringing Miranda the morning coffee was a thing now.

“Yes, Miranda.” Her cheek muscles twitched with the urge to assault the other woman with another smile.

“Good.”

It was only after Andy arrived home later, removing her make-up at the sink in her bathroom, that she realized Miranda had not dismissed her with a “That’s all”. In fact, she hadn't heard those legendary words used on her for the past two weeks.

That night, she slept like a baby for the first time in two weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final part is done and finally posted! Apologies for the delay, work was being very difficult as usual, and I had a lot of trouble finding time to work on this. Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine. When I have more time, I normally reread and make corrections, even _after_ posting so if you should feel inclined, feel free to point out any jarring errors I may have missed. 
> 
> Thank you to all readers who have been so warm and welcoming thus far. I do hope this chapter does the story and our favourite ladies justice. Enjoy!

Caroline Priestly, mini carbon-copy of her mother, master manipulator and prime reason for the current literal mess Andy was in, would definitely grow up to be exactly like her mother.

Not only did the girl have her mother’s mannerisms (head tilt and all), she had perfected the art of the Death Glare and was giving Andy a really lethal dose of it. It took a lot of mental prepping on Andy’s part to convince herself that a prepubescent girl did not have the power to turn her into stone. It did have the power, however, to make Andy sift through damp dirt on her knees, looking for a bracelet her monthly salary couldn’t even pay for.

“Are you sure it’s out here?” Andy mumbled, trying to avoid the thorns of a rosebush she was crouched under.

“Yes,” mini-Miranda hissed, tapping her foot. “What is  _taking_  so long?” she added, like her patience was being tested by the biggest idiot in the universe.

“Trying not to go blind,” Andy said, irritation flaring at Caroline’s tone. She was the adult in this equation, and her pride refused to let her be cowed. “How did you manage to lose it out here anyway?” Somehow, the idea of the child being a budding gardener didn’t fly so well.

“Who cares?” Caroline snapped, as if the whole thing had been an incompetent assistant’s fault. “Find it, or I’ll – well, I’ll tell Mom you lost it.”

Oh, hell to the no. Andy leveled a look at the redheaded girl, and was pleased to find icy blue eyes wavering. “For one, telling me exactly how you lost it would speed things up, since I would know  _where_ to look. Because it’s not in the dirt. And your Mother would  _know_  that you were lying.”

Andy tried not to show exactly how nervous she was as she channeled all the sternness she could muster without crossing the line – after all, Caroline was still somebody else’s child. Something told her that it was important establish herself as another adult, not a spineless assistant they could bully.

Furthermore, after five weeks of working late at the townhouse – since that was something Andy did now – she had some confidence that Miranda would actually listen to her side of the story if things got ugly tonight. Because that was the other thing Andy did now as well, tell Miranda what she thought about things when Miranda asked for her input (she still hadn’t gotten over it).

“You’re just paid to do things for us. Mom would believe me,” Caroline said, lifting her chin defiantly.

“No,” Andy said, sitting up on her knees. “I am paid to things for Miranda. If your Mom had asked me to do this, I won’t complain. But I’m trying to help you so  _you_ won’t get into trouble with your Mom and I would really appreciate your help.”

It was the first time Andy had really spoken to any of Miranda’s rather terrifying children but having spent half an hour crouching on sogginess, she was beyond the point of caring. Also, backlit from the light spilling through the open door, Caroline looked like the little girl she was trying so hard no to be.

Andy sighed, looking at her watch. Miranda would have already collected The Book and returned upstairs. She fought back a pang of disappointment.

Andy knew Stephen was home tonight since Andy had personally made the arrangement for a dinner for two to be delivered to the townhouse, and she had thought there was a possibility of being home earlier. So she had stupidly promised to be home earlier, in an attempt to appease the man-child she was currently living with. Well, that was fucked, the moment Caroline had seen fit to accost Andy before she could leave the townhouse, dragging her to the backyard as Andy tried to protest non-verbally.

It was also a miracle that they hadn’t been caught yet – Andy would have bet her entire savings that Miranda had supersonic hearing and X-ray vision.

“Why are you so worried anyway? Your mom would probably get you another one if you asked. Regardless of what I said, you know you won’t get into trouble.”

Caroline bit her lip.

Ah, a breakthrough.

After a moment’s hesitation, the girl spoke. “I know Mom won’t be mad. But it’s a gift and she’d be disappointed.”

Andy tried not to smile at the admission. It was a familiar affliction, the great fear of disappointing Miranda Priestly. Unlike Andy and the rest of the world though, Caroline had nothing to worry about. Didn’t she know that Miranda would move heaven and earth for her girls?

“Your Mom loves you.”

“Ugh, I know!” Caroline said, clasping a hand over mouth when she realized she had spoken loudly. Then, continuing at a much lower volume, she said: “I know. But don’t you see? It’s because Mom loves me that I can’t lose it. It would make her really sad to know I didn’t take care of it properly.”

“Okay,” Andy said, feeling the first pang of sympathy for the girl in front of her. “I’ll try my best to find it,” she promised. “But first, I need to know where exactly you lost it. Or, I don’t know, the general area you were in when you realized you didn’t have it. Kay?”

Caroline nodded, and then joined Andy in the backyard garden. “It was here,” she said, solemnly pointing at a pink rose bush. “I was trying to get flowers for Mom but the bracelet got caught and broke.”

“Oh.”

Whatever she had been expected, it wasn’t that. For all the deadly glares she could mimic, suddenly, Caroline wasn’t all that terrifying anymore. Spoilt, yeah, but she obviously loved her mother and that was the most important thing in Andy’s books.

“Mom has been really stressed out lately.”

Andy chuckled. “Yeah. She has.” And as a result, so was everyone else at  _Runway_. “We’ll find it, don’t worry.”

“Yeah?”

“I got you guys Harry Potter, didn’t I?”

Caroline’s face broke into a grin. “Yeah.”

Fifteen minutes later, aided with a torchlight Caroline dug up from a kitchen drawer, Andy emerged triumphant, having found the sparkling item hanging off a hidden branch in the heart of the thorny foliage.

Caroline threw her arms around Andy in unabashed relief, clutching the  _obviously_  Cartier bracelet in one fist. A Priestly couldn’t be caught in anything as pedestrian as a friendship bracelet, could she?

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best,” Caroline said, into Andy’s neck.

“You betcha,” Andy said, squeezing the skinny girl, a little overwhelmed by the unusual gratitude. She didn’t know if Miranda gave hugs to her daughters in general, but Caroline’s comfort with bodily contact hinted at it. The thought warmed Andy up inside out. “Now, you need to go to bed before I get fired.”

The girl snickered before pulling away. “You won’t,” she said, confidently. “Promise you won’t tell Mom.”

“Cross my heart.” Andy stood up, brushing the dirt off her knees as best as she could. “And let’s not test out your theory. Shoo, off to bed you go,” she said, gently pushing the girl towards the townhouse.

“Okay, okay, I’m going. Thanks again, Andy! Night!” Caroline whispered, darting off towards the townhouse. Halfway, she paused and gave a little wave.

Andy grinned, waving back.

Once Caroline disappeared, she looked around the garden, arching her back to stretch the aching muscles. God, what a night. Did Miranda garden? Or did she employ a gardener to maintain it? The thought of someone that elegant on her knees, getting dirt underneath her fingernails made a funny mental picture.

Andy’s eyes fell on the pink rose bush she had been wrestling with only a few moments ago. The roses were beautiful though, despite the thorns – like a certain someone Andy knew.

Might as well. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t already late.

-

When Andy was ten years old, she discovered  _Back to the Future_ and had fervently asked Santa for a DeLorean for Christmas so she could time-travel. She wasn’t ten anymore, but a time-travelling DeLorean would be very welcome right now because Andy Sachs was an idiot.

This morning, she left the Starbucks on Miranda’s desk, along with the vitamins in a clear acrylic container she had stolen from the make-up department. There was no way she would be able to look Miranda in the eye without facing the wrath that would no doubt be there. Caroline had lulled her into a false sense of comfort and courage last night, and she was going to pay for it today.

Idiot.

She sat at her desk, growing a stomach ulcer, until the editor arrived at 7:50AM sharp, spouting instructions to Emily who was trailing behind her.

Andy forced herself to chirp, “Good morning, Miranda,” about the same time a ten-thousand dollar bag dropped onto her desk. From habit, Andy started around her desk to help Miranda out of her coat, but the garment had already been shrugged off before she made it.

“Is it beyond the ability of staff to follow simple instructions?” Miranda asked, looking right at Andy. Her lips pursed.

Oh, God.

“Sorry, Miranda,” Emily sputtered. “I’ll tell them to change it immediately.”

There was no way to tell whom Miranda had directed the rhetorical question at, but Andy had a sinking feeling that it wasn’t Emily. Taking the chance to get away, she grabbed the discarded coat and bag to put them away. When she returned to her desk, Miranda was already in her office, Emily nowhere in sight.

Meaning that Andy was left alone with Miranda, which was the  _last_  thing she needed since –

“Andrea.”

Shit.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Andy steeled herself for the fallout and entered the dragon’s lair.

“Was there a change in routine I am unaware of?” Miranda spoke, in the same tone one would use to talk about the weather the moment Andy saw her.

Today was it. Maybe Auto-Universe wouldn’t be too bad. She might even get a more senior role, since she had some experience under her belt. She would be sad though, because the past five weeks had been the best weeks at work and she had just begun to look forward to it every morning.

“Sorry, Miranda,” Andy said. “I know there is no excuse.”

“I would like to know why.”

“Why?” Andy stammered.

“I am speaking in English, am I not? Yes,  _why_.” The older woman leaned back into her chair, a finger on her lip.

Why? Because Andy was the biggest idiot in the universe, that was why. Because she was insane, and wanted to see Miranda smile, like how Caroline did.

“Because you – uh – you’ve been really stressed lately.”

“Pardon?” Miranda said, frowning.

“I mean, you know, after scrapping the Marc Jacobs shoot.” Andy gulped. She was pretty sure nobody had ever dared to comment on Miranda’s levels of stress before, not to her face.

Miranda’s frown deepened. “You left these here because I have been  _stressed_?” Her hand waved in the general direction of the Starbucks and vitamins on the desk.

_Oh._

Perhaps Miranda hadn’t noticed what Andy had done last night. She certainly wasn’t acting like she had.

“Sorry,” Andy repeated, praying that she was right and Miranda hadn’t even stepped foot into her kitchen this morning. A sprig of hope appeared within reach. And Miranda was unhappy that Andy had left the coffee and vitamins on her desk. Something glowed inside Andy, which made her do what she never would have done in a thousand years.

Taking a bold chance, she picked up the acrylic case and offered it to the sitting woman.

“Here you go,” Andy said.

Miranda narrowed her eyes briefly, looking at the object in her hand, and then back up to Andy’s face. Andy smiled in return, trying to appear confident and unafraid, despite her racing heart and sweaty palms. The corners of Miranda’s lips quirked upwards for a split-second –  _very_ slightly – before she took the peace offering. Because that was exactly what it had been meant as.

Andy felt like she had just won a Grand Prix, flushing with pleasure and adrenaline.

“At least some of my staff are competent. I can’t say the same for all of them,” Miranda said, her quiet voice resonating in such a way that anyone in the outer office would have heard her. Sure enough, Andy heard a flurry of movement outside as Miranda slipped on her glasses, attention diverted back to work.

It was a clear enough dismissal and Andy took her cue to leave, pleased that again, Miranda hadn’t said “That’s all.”

In the course of the past few weeks, Andy had discovered that if one could anticipate Miranda’s needs well enough, one never needed to ever hear those words. Andy had become so attuned to knowing when Miranda wanted her presence and when she was expected to leave that she had managed to avoid being verbally dismissed for the most part. It was almost a game now, although she strongly preferred reading Miranda’s silent invitations than her silent dismissals.

Andy returned her desk, feeling simultaneously relieved and dizzy that she had pulled such a stunt and insanely, Miranda had  _allowed_ it. In fact, she was sure that Miranda had been trying extremely hard not to smile, which felt like a great personal triumph for Andy this morning.

Yes, it was going to be a fantastic day indeed.

-

In the car to the townhouse, Andy imagined about fifty different scenarios of how she was going to sneak into the kitchen to check on how the pink roses were doing. However, when she got there, they were nowhere in sight and Andy drooped. It was stupid. Miranda had probably asked the housekeeper to clear them away, having no idea who it came from. Maybe she thought someone had broken in, although that itself was absurd. Who broke into someone’s home to leave them flowers? Worse, maybe the housekeeper had gotten rid of them before Miranda had even seen them.  _Maybe_ that whole thing with the vitamins was just Miranda’s OCD talking on Andy’s deviation from the routine.

She tip-toed back into the foyer, feeling sad and a combination of other emotions she didn’t care to name. So much for beating herself up over it this morning. Though Andy had wished she could take back what she had done, there was no way to pretend she didn’t feel the disappointment of having her effort ignored or discarded.

Slipping her shoes back on, Andy opened the front door to leave.

At about the same time Miranda appeared on the landing and said: “Andrea,” in that way which meant Andy was going to work late.

Damn. It was going to be hard to chirpy and bright-eyed tonight for Miranda, but Andy squared her shoulders, said: “Yes, Miranda”, and turned back to go upstairs.

And there it was, a bunch of pink roses, sitting on Miranda’s desk in the study, like they  _meant_  something.

Andy’s face split into a grin so wide her cheeks hurt.

“Pleased about something?” Miranda asked, sounding almost amused.

“Nope,” Andy said, happily. Not only had Miranda  _noticed,_ but it seemed she had liked them to have them brought up into her study from the kitchen island Andy had left them on. “It’s just, the flowers. They’re just really pretty. I like them.”

“My girls seem to share your opinion as well,” Miranda said. “Caroline felt strongly that they would help with a stressful week.”

Oh, okay.

If Miranda thought they were from the girls, which was totally fine with Andy as it had been Caroline’s idea in the first place, that would explain why it was on her desk.

“I hope they helped,” Andy said, earnestly. It would have made being on her knees in dirt last night completely worth it.

Miranda hummed, which almost certainly meant she did.

Though, Andy was curious as to how Caroline had taken credit for it. Sneaky. “It’s really sweet for Caroline to get you flowers,” she said, nonchalantly.

“She didn’t admit to it, but she indicated knowing the culprit so I made an educated guess. They are from the garden, after all. I don’t know how she managed it without destroying the whole bush,” Miranda said, not without a touch of pride in her voice.

God, it was doing funny things to Andy, hearing Miranda talk about her family, like Andy was worthy of her attention. She almost sighed in happiness.

But then, Miranda launched right into work by pronouncing that “This page is a disaster,” and jump-started Andy’s brain from the mush it was into high-alert. “The samples are not showing up as they should in print. We will need the skirts in a different shade of grey.”

Andy sat down, scribbling in her notepad, as Miranda slapped a Post-It on the mocked-up page, marked “REDO – NEW SAMPLES” in bright, red marker ink. She wasn’t sure if the skirts were even available in another shade of grey, but she had learned to never underestimate what designers would do at the request of the most influential fashion editor of the world. After several late nights and copious note-taking, Andy had begun to understand a fraction of why Miranda wanted her around. It was likely faster to get through The Book when Andy was doing the note-taking, instead of Miranda having to put it on a Post-It note. Or ten.

On the occasions when Miranda asked for her opinion – well, that was always the highlight of the night to know that the distant, unapproachable woman, wanted to come down to Andy’s level and listen to what she thought.

The late nights had obliterated any chances Andy had of spending more time writing, or working on her tunnel vision issue as outlined in her personal KPIs on the mentorship programme. Recently, getting work out of her mind was way less of a concern when she found that work itself was keeping her motivated and purposeful, even as Nate pulled further and further away from her. She hadn’t even seen Cat all that much recently, and with a small shard of guilt, realized that it was because the layout editor’s companionship and well-meaning advice paled in comparison to Miranda’s razor-sharp wit and incredible insight.

Such as the following pearls which just fell right onto Andy’s lap, one of many frequently peppering their interactions.

“Is mediocrity a new trend I am unaware about?”

“I guess it’s comfortable to be mediocre,” Andy responded without really thinking, although she knew Miranda’s question was rhetorical, as most of them were.

“Nobody ever achieved greatness by being  _comfortable_ , Andrea,” Miranda intoned, striking an angry red line across a page she obviously didn’t approve of. From experience, she clearly had no issues with putting Andy or anyone else working for her in situations so far out of their comfort zones they were practically off the radar.

Andy had been right. Miranda would have made a great mentor.

No.

Watching her boss work out of the corner of her eye, Andy swallowed hard. Miranda was a great mentor. That was exactly what she was doing, wasn’t it? Even if there was no official assignment, nothing written in documents for HR, Miranda had allowed Andy a great deal of insight into the work which went into achieving success. Achieving  _greatness_. Miranda was a great mentor because she was  _great_. She was allowing Andy a glimpse of a world closed off before, even if Andy had made a mistake in the beginning and thought she had lost that chance to Emily.

Miranda had taken her to private meetings, bestowed advice disguised as insults, given her extra time at lunch so she could work on her  _official_  mentorship programme.

It couldn’t be coincidental. But why? Was it out of some power-trip to know that she could easily replace Cat, the mentor she thought Andy had chosen? Andy fought the urge to sigh aloud. It was likely she would never know the answer to this particular gem.

Irrespective of the reasons, Andy knew when she had struck gold, and was determined to keep it.

It took a moment of silence before she realized Miranda was looking at her direction. Shit. Had the other woman said something she missed? A quick scan of her notes didn’t show anything incomplete, and Miranda still had the page opened to the Gucci spread, corresponding with her notes. But Miranda was staring … at her hands?

What the hell?

As if sensing Andy’s awkwardness at being studied, the editor’s eyes snapped up to meet Andy’s, and she looked contemplative, eyes strangely bright.

“Yes, Miranda?”

“Bring up some water,” Miranda said, without missing a beat.

“Okay. Be right back,” Andy said, falling right into Miranda’s own momentum of things where nothing had transpired before. Water my ass, Andy thought, as she left the study to seek out the hydration Miranda demanded.

Leaning with both palms on the counter as she waited for the jug to fill with water, Andy tried to reimagine Miranda’s gaze only moments before. The woman was impossible.

“You’re still here,” Stephen’s voice said.

Rolling her eyes, Andy mentally face-palmed. Of goddamn course. She flicked the tap off and turned around, smiling as courteously as she could.

“Good evening Mr Tomlinson,” Andy said, even if the urge to call him Mr. Priestly was really strong.

“Is she going to be long?” he asked from the doorway, with a hint of irritation.

Which irritated Andy in return, because Miranda had spent dinner with him the day before, hadn’t she? Just how much attention did this man need?

“I’m not sure, Mr Tomlinson,” she replied, as politely as she could. “If you’ll excuse me…” Andy said, picking up the tray on which she had arranged the jug and two empty glasses.

“You’re not sure? Aren’t you paid to know?”

As Andy approached the door  _and_ Stephen, she smelt a whiff of alcohol and felt her irritation increase twofold. “I’m sorry, Mr Tomlinson. I really don’t know. Excuse me.”

He didn’t move to allow her to pass.

“Excuse me,” Andy repeated, through clenched teeth.

“Don’t be smart with me,” Stephen sneered.

Just before Andy could tell him to step aside, Miranda appeared, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Darling,” she said, gently. “I was just done. Andrea was only going to bring me water and leave after that, weren’t you Andrea?”

Andy swallowed. “Yes, of course, Miranda.”

Stephen looked peeved, but allowed Miranda to softly guide him out of the way.

“I have decided that I would have some tea instead. You may leave now, Andrea,” Miranda said, deceptively mild, although her eyes were sharp and unyielding.

“Um, I don’t –”

“Collect the new skirt samples before coming in tomorrow,” Miranda interrupted, sounding sterner than she had in the study before. She definitely wasn’t allowing Andy any room for argument. “That’s all.”

Definitely no argument there.

“Yes, Miranda,” Andy said, a reluctantly put down the tray on the island. She didn’t really want to leave Miranda alone with her husband, if Stephen was inebriated. There was a chance that he could be verbally abusive, even if he was more subdued for the time being. Though, there was no way she could defy Miranda in such a way.

Hating herself for being a giant coward, Andy went upstairs to quickly pack up her things and returned downstairs to the foyer in record speed. Pulling on her coat, she heard movement and saw Miranda and Stephen going upstairs.

Glaring daggers into the back of Stephen’s head, Andy seethed. How the fuck was she going to get the skirts in the different shades of grey Miranda wanted before she got into work?! They probably didn’t even exist! Goddammit.

And oh god, did he just grab Miranda’s ass?

Fuck.

Miranda was going to be a beast tomorrow – she always was, when something came up and she couldn’t go through The Book as thoroughly as she wanted to. Andy really didn’t want to think about what Miranda would be busy with tonight. She hated how Miranda had been so pacifying with Stephen, it made her weirdly uncomfortable seeing  _the_ Miranda Priestly be put into a situation that entailed involuntary subservience and submission.

Because it sure as hell didn’t look like Miranda was enjoying it.

Stepping out into the night, Andy tried to focus on the cold and ignore the queasiness in her belly.

On the ride home in the subway, she hoped Miranda would collect The Book in the morning, and smile when she saw the roses and remembered her daughters. While Andy had  _anticipated_ that Miranda didn’t want her there, she hadn’t been ready to leave on her own accord and sure enough, “That’s all” had been used. But Andy hoped that she wouldn’t have to hear it again the next day. When a drunk college kid got on the train, Andy hoped that Stephen wouldn’t hurt Miranda in any way tonight.

The next morning, brushing her teeth in her bathroom, Andy hoped that the day would be a smoother day for Miranda. If not, Andy would be damned if she didn’t do everything in her power to make it so.

Rinsing her toothbrush under the cold tap water, Andy realized that the tiny scratches on her hands from the rose bush had begun to scab over, making them more obvious than before.

Miranda had noticed them last night.

That morning, Andy allowed herself to hope that the brief brightness in Miranda’s eyes last night meant what she wanted it to.

When Miranda strolled in at 8:07AM sharp, and Andy greeted her with a smile, clear blue eyes lit up.

 _For_ her.

 

_fin_


End file.
